Burnt Toast
by Wingedteen
Summary: Because Max is one more cooking-related accident away from burning down the house, and the expression of love and devotion comes in many forms. FAX


I stepped over the mop bucket, my sneakers slipping on the wet floor. The mop plopped back into the soapy water, and I tried not to let it slosh over the sides as I dragged it up to the bench. I tipped the contents down the sink, watching the water drain steadily.

I stepped back to get rid of the mop, and collided into something warm and solid. My feet lost traction and I slid forward, starting when a steadying hand landed on my waist.

"AGH! Fang!" I huffed, as I turned around to find him smirking mockingly. "Geez, the floor's wet and the house is silent! How did you even- never mind, just drag your feet or something next time!"

"Why? You'd hear me coming." He replied, straight-faced, but with a teasing glint in his eye that told me he was joking. I rolled my eyes and turned away, fetching the fallen mop and bucket.

I could hear Fang open the fridge door –some noise, finally- and root around in the shelves.

"There's no milk." He stated, head still in the fridge.

"Hmm, and no eggs either."I said absentmindedly, reading Iggy's note on the open fridge door. Iggy would probably be able to rustle something up, once he rolled out of bed, but until then we'd have to go hungry. My stomach rumbled a loud growl of protest, telling me that under no uncertain terms would it not be receiving food _right now_.

My eyes caught on a lonely, half-eaten loaf of bread sitting next to the microwave. I poked at it cautiously (we'd had a problem with rats eating through plastic the week before), then opened it slowly. Turning over the pieces, I found no green patches, so deemed it safe. I turned around and held the bread up to Fang, triumphantly.

"We have food!" I exclaimed, plugging the toaster back into the wall. Fang froze.

"Max... step away from the toaster." He said, holding his hands up, palms forward.

"Oh, ha ha." I rolled my eyes again, popping two pieces of probably-alright white bread into the slots. "It's just toast. You can't really kill toast."

Fang gave me a blank look that translated quite clearly into an '_are you kidding me?_'

I pursed my lips, and then slowly and deliberately pushed down the slide on the front of the toaster. I raised a challenging eyebrow at Fang, who shrugged and went back to the fridge.

"Whatever. When the house burns down, don't be mad that I didn't stop you."

I snorted, leaning over to fetch two plates out of the cupboard.

---

Two minutes later, and the smoke curling around the kitchen wall alerted me that the toast was ready. Fang and I burst into the kitchen to find that the toast had somehow gotten stuck and not popped, and continued to burn in the toaster. Fang unplugged the smoking appliance and waved the air clean. He shot me a look.

"You jinxed it, saying nothing could kill toast." He peered cautiously into the slots, pressing a button on the side to release the mechanisms inside. The toast popped up merrily, blackened and burnt. I watched the corner crumble into ash as Fang poked it. He met my eyes over the top of the toaster.

"Do _not_ say 'I told you so'." I said warningly, putting the misshapen pieces onto a plate.

"WHERE'S THE FIRE?" Iggy burst into the kitchen, hair bedraggled and pillow-lines on his face.

"No fire, Iggy." I said, patting him on the shoulder. He straightened up with a confused look on his face.

"What? But there's smoke everywhere-"

"Max made toast." Fang interrupted, casting a look at the black lumps on the plate.

"Oh." He nodded, turning to shout up the stairs, "It's okay, guys! It was just Max and the toaster!"

There were three loud, simultaneous groans and the squeak of bed springs as the flock flopped back into their previous, semi-comatose states. I glared at the ceiling.

"Why'd you let her cook?" Iggy demanded, talking in Fang's general direction.

"I can't stop her if she wants to burn the house down."

Iggy pulled a box of cereal from the shelf, thrusting it into my hands before slouching back up the stairs.

"You're both lucky I disabled the smoke alarm ages ago!" he yelled back down to us.

I shrugged, grabbing a bowl and a spoon and sitting down at the table. I ate the dry cereal, staring at the new black spot on the kitchen ceiling. There was the scrape of wood on linoleum as Fang pulled a chair out to sit down, a familiar-looking plate in his hands. He set it down on the table, and I stared disbelievingly at the black lumps of ash on top.

"You're planning on _eating_ it?" I gawked. He shrugged nonchalantly, but a twitch in his jaw belied his amusement at my incredulous tone.

I watched, morbidly fascinated, as he lifted one burnt piece to his mouth and took a slow, deliberate bite. He chewed for a few seconds, and I waited in horror for him to keel over right there at the kitchen table.

One second… two seconds… three seconds…

Somehow, Fang was still sitting at the table, perfectly fine. I stared, gob smack, at the burnt toast in his hand.

"You didn't die." He rolled his eyes, but I could tell he was pretty surprised too.

"Maybe it kicks in after a few minutes." He joked, taking another nibble of the corner.

"Fang, it's burnt to a crisp, you shouldn't be eating it." I said seriously with a frown, making a grab for my failed breakfast attempt. He moved the toast out of my reach, and I looked up at him questioningly, stretched out and leaning over the table. My breath caught, a painful ache in my chest making itself known.

"I want it." He said in a soft voice.

The look he gave me was unidentifiable, his eyes impossibly dark. The brown tint had disappeared completely, making it impossible to tell where his pupil started and ended. There was a pause, a _moment_, and for a second, I thought he was going to lean down and kiss me.

There was a slam of a door from upstairs, and we both jumped. The moment passed. I looked back towards Fang, who was still holding the toast, and felt the normal mixture of relief and disappointment I had come to associate with these moments. He glanced up. We both looked away quickly, hearing the rest of the flock thunder down the stairs.

Fang took a vicious chunk out of the toast, and I went back to crunching dry cereal.

The kids and Iggy filed in, Nudge coming to sit down next to me. She babbled on a mile a minute, stopping to take a long chug from the orange juice Iggy placed in front of her. Out of nowhere, Iggy started sniffing the air like a bloodhound, following his nose until he reached the blackened toast in Fang's hand. He made a face.

"Ugh, why haven't you thrown that out yet? Most people like a little toast with their charcoal."

Fang shrugged. "I love burnt toast."

Iggy looked at him with confusion, and a little disgust, before shuffling back towards the fridge. Everyone had stopped to look at Fang eating my cooking. Gazzy looked at him in wonder.

"You're not dead!"

---

Fang smiled inwardly at Gazzy's repeat of Max's statement. He risked a quick glance at her, watching her roll her eyes and make some comment about how "He shouldn't sound so surprised."

Fang ducked his head down, staring at his plate. He'd been about to kiss Max, before, and, well… she had looked like she had wanted him to. He loved Iggy and the other guys, but sometimes they had the worst timing. But at least he knew that she was starting to accept it, now. He lifted up a piece of burnt toast, smiling secretly to himself from behind it. The smile disappeared when he took a bite of the toast. He repressed a shudder.

God, he hated burnt toast.


End file.
